


I Don't Change My Mind for Just Anybody

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: All of Jemma's and Fitz's friends think moving in together is a bad idea.That's not going to stop them from doing it.  Just because they fight all the time, doesn't mean they can't be roommates.





	I Don't Change My Mind for Just Anybody

For as long as she could remember, Jemma Simmons has always bristled at being told what she could or could not do. All her life, she’s been surrounded by people who underestimated her, and she’s made it her life’s mission to prove them all wrong. When her grandparents told her that girls don’t become doctors or scientists, she went out and got two Ph.D.s. When her teachers told her she wouldn’t last living in America, so far away from everyone and everything she knows, she used the memory to get through her first few months of homesickness.

And when her friends tell her she wouldn’t last three months living with Fitz? Well, she wouldn’t say she makes  the decision _completely_ based on spite, but it is a pretty significant factor.

“Hunter lived with him for years!” Jemma points out. “I refuse to believe there’s anything he can do that I can’t.””

“Hunter doesn’t get into screaming matches with Fitz every time they’re within 20 feet of each other,” Daisy reminds her.

Jemma waves away her concern. “At least with Fitz, I know what to expect. I’d rather live with him than get a possible axe murderer on Craigslist.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely better than a possible axe murderer,” Fitz agrees.

Jemma bites down the urge to say, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” After all, they are supposed to be on the same side. It’s entirely possible that spitting out insults at Fitz has become reflexive at this point. Instead, she says, “It can’t possibly be a worse idea than Hunter and Bobbi moving in together.”

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “We’ve lived together before.”

“Yeah, and then you got divorced,” Mack reminds them.

Hunter looks at him with an expression of betrayal. “Hey! You were against them moving in together too.”

“Oh, I still think it’s going to blow up in their faces. I’m just saying that it’ll probably blow up in your faces too.” Mack lets out a heavy and disappointed sigh. “Just, a lot of bad choices, all around.”

Bobbi and Hunter’s bad choice is the whole reason Jemma and Fitz are in this position in the first place. They’re both losing a roommate, and it just makes sense for them to move in together. Like a roommate swap.

“You know what I love about this group?” Bobbi asks. “How supportive we are of each other.”

Despite Bobbi’s sarcasm, they all are fairly supportive. They all spend a Saturday moving all of Hunter’s things to Bobbi and Jemma’s apartment, then loaded up Mack’s truck with all of Jemma’s things and moved it all to Fitz and Hunter’s apartment.

Jemma buys pizza for everyone, Hunter provides a lot of cheap liquor and makes some truly terrible mixed drinks, and they all hang out at the apartment Bobbi and Hunter now share. At the end of the night, Fitz pushes a tipsy Jemma into the passenger seat of his car and drives them home. All Jemma wants to do is collapse in her bed, but finds it unmade. Fitz grumbles as he helps her wrestle a fitted sheet onto her mattress, and then once Jemma has flopped onto the bed, Fitz brings her an aspirin and a glass of water and gruffly orders her to drink the whole thing.

Jemma wakes up the next morning so miserable that she completely forgets to thank Fitz and instead ends up accidentally picking a fight with him over how pouring maple syrup over double chocolate chip pancakes is just sugar overload. (It’s not nagging if she’s genuinely concerned for his health. It’s not.)

Still, though. It’s not a bad start.

*

Fitz and Jemma met when they were 16 years old and both enrolled in a post-doctorate program that encouraged interdisciplinary cooperation. Despite regularly disrupting the lab with their loud and heated arguments, they were paired together more often than not because even though they constant bickered, they also actually worked well with each other. So much so that 100% of the prototypes they created together moved forward to the development stage and went on to be used by various intelligence agencies.

After graduating from the program, Jemma went on to do research at a medical facility while Fitz tried his hand at academia. Jemma lost track of him for a while (not that she cared at all) until she moved for her current job and tagged along with Bobbi, her new roommate at the time, for game night at her boyfriend/ex-husband’s apartment, and there Fitz was, sitting on the couch.

They managed to be polite to each other for about five minutes before they started loudly arguing about how Fitz was purposefully stealing all of Jemma’s wheat in Settlers. (“And FURTHERMORE,” Jemma had yelled, “Why is the robber BLACK? That’s so racist!” At which point Mack reached over to give Jemma a fist-bump, earning him a traitorous glare from Fitz.)

As it turned out, academia didn’t really suit Fitz, and now that Jemma’s living with Fitz, she’s discovered that he spends all his time trying to patent the inventions that he creates at home. Jemma doesn’t mind the metal, gears, and tools spilling over every surface of the apartment (she very much prefers that to constantly side-stepping Bobbi’s nunchuck collection). She doesn’t mind occasionally finding a screwdriver in the refrigerator or wrench between the couch cushions. Jemma doesn’t even mind that Fitz procrastinates by trying to “upgrade” all of their kitchen appliances, making their microwave so efficient that that it can reheat leftovers in five seconds, provided that it doesn’t accidentally explode.

But, still. She has her limits.

“Fitz?” Jemma leans against the open doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush in one hand.

“Yeah?” Fitz doesn’t move his head from where he’s inspecting the contents of the fridge, searching for booze for Daisy, who came over and demanded that Fitz and Jemma get day-drunk with her after a terrible brunch with her birth mom.

“Do you think that from now on, you could rinse out the sink after you shave? It’s kind of gross to see all that hair in there.” Jemma requests it politely, but her nose wrinkles in obvious distaste.

Fitz turns towards Jemma and slams the door of the fridge shut. He crosses his arm over his chest, scowling in indignation. “You leave way more hair in the sink than I do.”

Jemma raises her eyebrows. “I do not! I shave in the shower!”

“I’m not talking about your leg hairs,” Fitz gestures vaguely towards her head. “I’m talking about your hair hairs! The sink was clogged last week because of a huge clump of hair right inside the drain! It was disgusting.”

Jemma’s mouth drops open. “Well, that’s not my fault! I can’t help it if my hair falls out on its own!“

Daisy groans from where she’s draped across the couch. “Here we go again.”

“I know that!” Fitz’s voice rises over Daisy’s. “All I’m saying is that at least my hairs don’t clog the drain!”

“I wasn’t accusing you!” The volume of Jemma’s voice rises in accordance to her level of frustration. “I was requesting a simple behavior change!”

Fits swings out his arm dramatically. “Well, if we’re talking about behavior changes, can we talk about how you drop your purse right next to the door when you walk in?”

“I don’t see why you have a problem with that when you leave your hoodies all over the living room.”

“You’ve never said anything about my hoodies in the living room!”

Jemma throws her head back and groans at the ceiling, “That’s because I don’t care about your hoodies in the living room!” She returns her glare to Fitz. “I just don’t understand why you’re okay with your hoodies but have a problem with my purse!”

“Because I don’t nearly trip over my hoodies when I walk into the flat!”

“You know,” Daisy observes, “I never realized how funny the word ‘hoodies’ is until hearing it so many times in one conversation. Hoodies.”

Jemma ignores Daisy in favor of continuing her argument with Fitz. “That’s funny, because walking into the flat implies that you have actually at one point walked out of the flat!”

“Hoodies,” Daisy muses to herself, changing the inflection each time. “Hoodies.”

“I leave the flat!” Fitz protests.

“Hoodies.”

“When? For a few hours once a week to play Skyrim with Hunter?”

“Hoodies.”

“Shut up!” Fitz snaps at Daisy at the same time that Jemma yells, “Daisy!”

Daisy gapes at them for a moment, then scowls. “You shut up!” Daisy retorts. “You do realize that all you had to say for this argument to be over is, “Okay, I’ll run the water for an extra five seconds,” or, “Okay, I’ll drop my purse a little farther from the door.’” She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “Not to make this all about me, but I already spent an hour arguing with Jaiying and you promised me we could get drunk and binge-watch Iron Fins, so - can we not right now?”

Jemma and Fitz stare at each other guiltily for a few long moments, before Jemma shifts her weight and clears her throat. “There’s marshmallow vodka in the freezer.”

Fitz wrinkles his nose. “Why do we have _marshmallow_ -”

“It _tastes good_ -”

“Fitzsimmons!” Daisy shouts.

Fitz wordlessly opens the freezer and pulls out the vodka while Jemma pastes a smile on her face and offers, far too cheerfully, “Shall I order us some egg rolls?”

*

Fitz and Hunter always got on. They split chores 50-50, Hunter never complained about Fitz’s stuff taking over the flat, and Fitz never judged Hunter for spending too much time playing video games. It was nice. They were friends, to be sure, but they lived together in the way infants play together - together without really being together. Fitz and Hunter ate whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, without feeling the need to consult the other. When they hung out with friends, they might invite each other right before leaving the flat, but they didn’t worry about the other person’s schedule.

And at first, living with Jemma is pretty much the same as living with Hunter - living parallel lives that only occasionally intersect. That is, until she comes home to find Fitz frowning contemplatively into his soup bowl.

“Everything alright?” Jemma asks.

“You need to try this,” Fitz tells her, holding out a spoonful of dishwater brown liquid. “It’s disgusting.”

Jemma recoils. “No thanks.”

“Why not?” Fitz wheedles, still holding the spoon up to her face. “Try it.”

‘No!”

“Try it.”

“Why would I want to try it if you just told me it’s disgusting?” Jemma asks incredulously over Fitz’s insistent chants to try it.

“C’mon, try it. Try it. Jemma. Jemma. Try it.”

“Fine!” Jemma shouts, leaning forward to take the spoon in her mouth. Her expression is blank for a few long moments before she grimaces and deliberately spits it out into Fitz’s bowl. “Oh my God, what is that?”

“Beer and sriracha soup.” Fitz slurps another spoonful.

Jemma watches him, aghast. “Why? Just...why would you - _why_? Why?”

Fitz shrugs. “Because I was hungry and it’s literally all we have in our fridge.”

“So order takeaway!”

“My phone is dead and I can’t find my charger.”

“Did you know that it’s possible to actually physically visit an eating establishment in real life?”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “So basically, you’re telling me that you’d rather drink warm beer out of a soup bowl than get actual food.”

“You know, this wouldn’t happen if you went grocery shopping every once in a while.”

“You have way more time to go grocery shopping than I do,” Jemma points out.

“But you’re already out of the flat. Can’t you just stop by somewhere on your way home?”

“Can’t you try to be less of a weird hermit?”

Fitz just brings the bowl to his lips and gulps the rest of the soup down.

After that, Jemma starts texting him constantly.

Going to CVS - need anything?

Stopping by Thai Time on my way home - want chicken satay?

Don’t forget maintenance is shutting off the water at 10 today.

And they get into a pretty regular routine with their meals. Jemma occasionally buys groceries, and sometimes Fitz will turn those groceries into dinner. And when there aren’t groceries, Jemma will stop by a restaurant on the way home to order takeaway. They eat in the kitchen and tell each other about what they’re working on, before moving to the couch and fiddling with their respective projects in front of the television.

The whole thing gets so stupidly domestic that Jemma actually starts to feel momentary pangs of guilt whenever she ineptly flirts with Milton at work. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like she’s even attracted to Fitz. No matter how blue his eyes are or how bright his face gets when he laughs or how graceful his hands are, it would be impossible to feel attraction to someone would probably wither and die if she didn’t feed him. He’s like a houseplant, if houseplants could cause electrical fires.

So when Milton asks her on a date, Jemma accepts with no guilt whatsoever.

*

Jemma doesn’t know what she was expecting when she moved in Fitz, but she didn’t exactly expect them to spend every evening together. She guesses that when she imagined living with Fitz, she figured he’d always be holed up in his room. But for Fitz, his room is where he does most of his work, so when he’s done or decides to procrastinate or hits a roadblock, he spends his time in the living room, sitting on the couch with a kitchen appliance or electronic device on his lap, tinkering with it absently while watching episodes of The Great British Bake Off.

Fitz, on the other hand, didn’t expect Jemma to spend every night trying her hand at every single hobby associated with 85-year-old grandmothers. It’s like she’s asking him to make fun of her. After only a month, Jemma’s needles are thoroughly mixed in with Fitz’s screws, her stationery stacked in piles with his blueprints, and her balls of yarn tangled with his wires.

And maybe if she stuck with one hobby for more than 24 hours, she might be halfway decent at one of them. But as it is, she...well...she sucks.

Fitz tilts his head. “This is your first time knitting.”

It’s more of an observation than a question, but Jemma answers anyway, without looking up from her knitting. “Yes.”

“Maybe you should practice something simple before you try to make something like a sweater?”

Jemma looks up at him and scowls. “It’s a scarf.”

“Oh.” Fitz squints at the tangle of yarn on her lap. “Are you sure?”

Jemma turns her attention back to her project, the knitting needles clacking together as she continues looping the yarn around them. “What do you mean, am I sure? I think I would know what I’m making.”

“It’s just that scarves don’t usually have arms.”

Jemma stop and holds out her knitting at arm’s length. “There aren’t any arms.” She sounds unsure, like she’s trying to convince herself.

Fitz leans out of his seat to point at her project. “Yeah, see - there’s this part over here protruding, and this part -”

“Well, it’s not like you could do better,” Jemma grumbles, snatching her knitting away from him and hugging it close to her chest. “Now hush - I’m trying to watch them proof the dough.”

*

Fitz scoffs from behind Jemma. Jemma lets out a little grunt of frustration as she pauses the movie and shifts her weight in her seat so that she can turn to glare at Fitz.

“Will you stop that?”

“You do realize that imposter of a scientist just said that the transneutralizer should reverse the plasmic modification when we both know that the sheer amount of energy necessary to achieve that cannot be created using two double-A batteries, a paper clip, and a shoelace?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “You do realize that we’re watching Paranormal Sharktivity 7? An entire movie about a country manor haunted by sharks and that’s what’s unrealistic to you?”

“If they’re going to ask us to suspend our disbelief, they should at least try to make the movie fun. I’ve never seen -”

“Speaking of fun,” Jemma interrupts, “Weren’t you going over to Hunter’s tonight?”

Fitz takes a swig of his beer. “Turns out he and Bobbi are having a date night.”

Jemma looks at him incredulously. “And what exactly do you think I’m trying to do here?” Next to her, Milton shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“In all fairness, I did tell you to pretend I’m not here,” Fitz reminds her.

Jemma opens her mouth, then apparently thinks better of whatever she was about to say, instead turning back around and violently flopping back against the cushions with her arms crossed. Milton gently takes the remote control from her lap and un-pauses the movie.

Fitz scoffs again less than a minute later, and Jemma tenses, ready to scold him again. Milton reaches over and squeezes her hand. Jemma looks up at him, surprised.

“I didn’t hear anything - did you?” Milton whispers with a small smile on his face.

Jemma smiles back at him. “Nothing at all.” She leans her head against his shoulder, feeling lucky that she has someone as even-tempered as Milton to keep her grounded.

*

Jemma likes plans and schedules and routines.

Before enrolling in Harvard, she got her hands on course catalogs from previous years and charted the most efficient way to complete her courses, allowing her to graduate two years earlier than the rest of her cohort and nine months ahead of what she had written in the ten-year plan that she wrote when she was four.

She wakes up at the same time every morning, even on the weekends, goes for a run, showers, drinks a cup of English Breakfast tea, and leaves the flat at precisely 8:17 am so that she can arrive at her favorite bakery at the exact moment their croissants come out of the oven.

She does not appreciate bumps in the road or spontaneity or going with the flow. So needless to say, she hates surprises.

“Surprise!”   
  
Jemma holds the door open for Fitz as he waddles in, pushing a very large Christmas tree through the doorway, pine needles flying everywhere. He leans around the tree to grin at Jemma. “Where should we put it, boss?”

Jemma pushes the door away from her, letting it slam shut, and crosses her arms over her chest. “I sent you out for more apples - why are you back with a tree?”

Fitz shrugs. “This is kind of heavy, so maybe we should just pick a spot for now,” he suggests. “We can always move it later if it doesn’t work. Maybe there.” He nods towards the corner next to the window.

“Why would you get this now?” Jemma asks, exasperated. “Is this really the best time for this? We don’t even have a tree stand!”

Fitz furrows his brow. “Do we need one of those? Can’t we just lean it against the wall?” He pushes the tree into the corner, trying to let the perpendicular walls support its weight. The tree rolls to the right and starts to fall. Fitz catches it. “Okay, maybe not.”

Jemma presses the heel of her hands into her eyes. “It’s not just about making it stand. It needs water.”

“Well, sorry, okay?” Fitz shouts, not sounding sorry at all. “I just wanted to surprise you with something nice.”

“Well, couldn’t it have waited until after Thanksgiving?” Jemma shouts back, gesturing to the mess in the kitchen.

“We’re British! Why are we even celebrating Thanksgiving?!” Fitz lets go of the tree so he can gesticulate wildly with his arms.

“Because we promised our friends we’d bring a pie! Watch out!” Jemma yells as the tree starts to fall again. “Why didn’t you call and check to see if we had a stand before buying a tree?”

“Because I –” Fitz stops and huffs, frustrated. “I literally just said that I wanted to surprise you!”

“Well, I don’t like surprises!”

Fitz takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, heavily. “Look,” he says, his voice calmer, but still stilted. “I’ll go out and get a stand, okay?”

Jemma picks her bag up from the floor and steps towards the door. “I’ll go,” she informs him through gritted teeth. “Because I apparently still need to buy more apples.”

When Jemma returns to the flat, they get into another argument when she discovers the living room floor completely covered in pine needles and the water-logged carpet where Fitz unsuccessfully tried to turn a plastic bucket into a tree stand while she was out. (“You are literally a rocket scientist - what made you think that a plastic bucket would work as a tree stand?!”)

An hour later, they get into another argument when smoke starts pouring out of the oven because Jemma turned up the heat in an effort to get the pie to bake faster so that they could still make it to dinner at Bobbi and Hunter’s on time.

Jemma and Fitz arrive at the Thanksgiving dinner an hour late, pine needles in their hair and smelling like smoke, carrying store-bought mincemeat pies because all the stores were already sold out of the pies that people actually like. They give each other the silent treatment the whole night, but whenever one of their friends urges them to put themselves out of their misery and admit defeat, they stubbornly claim that they’re getting along better than ever.

*

Fitz is used to not having money. Growing up, it always seemed like a minor miracle whenever he and his mom were able to pay all their bills at the end of every month. They weren’t destitute, but they were definitely used to pinching pennies.

So when working for a company turned out to be soul-crushing and working in academia turned out to require that 90% of his time be spent navigating bureaucratic bullshit, he decided to simplify his life and rediscover his childhood goal of inventing things that would make the world a better place.

And for the most part, his life has vastly improved. Except for when he tells his mum he can’t afford to visit her for Christmas.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be fine,” his mum reassures him. “But I hate to think of you all by yourself.”

“I won’t be,” Fitz promises. “If nothing else, I can crash Daisy’s Christmas with Phil and May.”

*

“Ooooh, no can do,” Daisy winces. “I’m going with Lincoln to meet his family.”

“We’re going to Bob’s - you can come with,” Hunter offers.

Bobbi smacks the back of Hunter’s head. “Definitely not,” she tells Fitz cheerfully.

“At least you’ll have Jemma,” Daisy reminds him.

“Really?” Fitz turns to look at Jemma with surprise. “I thought you were going home.”

Jemma shrugs with forced nonchalance. “My parents are going on a couples’ cruise instead.”

“And Milton?”

Jemma’s expression is unreadable. “I don’t think we’re at the spending-holidays-together stage of our relationship yet.” She smiles at him. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Fitz grins at her. “Ugh, gross.”

Jemma shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Christmas Eve brings a snowstorm of epic proportions, even by Scottish standards. When Fitz wakes up and looks out his window, the outside world seems to be a flurry of white, with thick blankets of snow and ice covering the sidewalks and streets. He should probably count himself lucky that Jemma went to the grocery store yesterday and stocked up on snacks, booze, and hot cocoa, in addition to all the ingredients necessary to make their Christmas dinner.

It is, admittedly, a little disquieting when Fitz stumbles out of his bedroom and nearly trips over Jemma, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at their bare Christmas tree. Jemma doesn’t stir from her quiet contemplation, so Fitz just sort of awkwardly steps around her to make some coffee. Once it’s done brewing, he pours two mugs and brings them to the living room.

“Everything okay?” Fitz crouches next to Jemma and holds out her mug in front of her.

Jemma just reaches out to take her coffee, immediately drawing it back into her chest, holding it in both hands. Fitz carefully folds his legs so that he’s sitting next to her in the same pose. He sips at his coffee and tilts his head to look at the tree, trying to notice what Jemma’s concentrating so intently on.

Jemma takes a slow sip of coffee, then startles, as though she just noticed that Fitz is there. “We don’t have any ornaments for the tree.” The implication is clear. They can’t leave the flat to buy decorations because they’re snowed in.

Fitz is maybe half to blame for that. He and his mum always decorated their tree on December 1st, but he’s been stubbornly ignoring the tree ever since Jemma yelled at him for buying it.

And he probably shouldn’t bring it up again, but - “Well, maybe if you hadn’t-”

“Oh my God, Fitz, for the thousandth time, I wasn't yelling at you for buying the tree, I was upset because of your terrible timing and shitty prioritizing!”

“And yet, who is the only person who brought any semblance of Christmas spirit into this household?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Fine! You are the bestower of Christmas spirit. We would have no Christmas without you. Now what are we going to do about this tree?”

As it turns out, Jemma and Fitz are still good at solving problems together. Jemma gathers all her art supplies, and Fitz gathers all the spare parts and scraps of metal left over from previous projects, and they spend the day making ornaments out of tiny gears and glitter pipe cleaners. They look up origami instructions online and fold Jemma’s stationery into tiny birds and fish. They sit on the floor together and string popcorn into a garland while half-watching truly terrible Hallmark Christmas movies on the television and drinking hot chocolate spiked with brandy. And when they finish hanging all the ornaments on their tree with paper clips, they flop onto the couch, pleasantly buzzed, Fitz sitting on one end and Jemma sprawled across the cushions with her feet in his lap.

Jemma lets out a big yawn, even though it’s only quarter past eight. “Is this supposed to be a romantic comedy or a psychological thriller?”

Fitz absently plays with the poms on her fuzzy socks. “Well, you know it’s a comedy because she tied up her fake boyfriend in the basement with Christmas lights instead of rope. And because he’s exasperated instead of terrified.”

“You know, usually fake things require less upkeep than the real thing - like, fake plants don’t need to be watered. But fake boyfriends look like a lot of effort. You need to practice PDA, you need a contingency plan if they try to escape…” Jemma muses.

“If your fake boyfriend is trying to escape, then you’re not paying him enough.”

“How much would you charge for your fake boyfriend services?” Jemma asks.

Fitz hums in thought. “Depends on the person.”

“For me?”

“For you? I think I’d settle for one of your horrific scarves.”

Jemma kicks at his ribs, digging her toes into his side, and Fitz wiggles away from her, laughing. “My scarves are beautiful.”

“Your scarves have sleeves!” Fitz gasps out, trying to catch his breath.

Jemma sticks her foot in his face, pushing his cheek with the flat of her foot, relentless. “My scarves are beautiful! Say it!”

“Okay, okay! Your scarves are beautiful!”

Jemma smirks, dropping her foot back in his lap. “That’s what I thought.”

Fitz flicks her ankle with his fingers. “On second thought, I might need to charge more for my services. You’re a menace.”

“I’ll make you two of my beautiful scarves.”

Fitz rolls his eyes, all fond amusement. “Deal.”

*

Fitz’s usual Christmas tradition with his friends involve a White Elephant gift exchange before they part ways to spend the holidays with their families. He usually just buys a bottle of booze, ties a ribbon around it, and calls it a night. He’s never actually had to pick out a gift for a specific person in his friend group before.

But he figures that if he’s spending Christmas with Jemma, it would be awkward if he didn’t get something for her. And it would be nice to have more gifts under the tree. Jemma’s parents sent her a box, and Fitz’s mum sent him his gift as well, but it would be a pretty quick and uneventful Christmas morning if all they did was open their mail.

And, if he knows Jemma, she’s probably going to have something for him and he doesn’t want to lose Christmas.

(At some point, he should probably stop thinking of every interaction with her as a competition.)

In the end, they both get each other bottles of booze (she gets him a nice Scotch and he gives her a bottle of marshmallow vodka, her favorite), but Fitz supplements it with a set of paintbrushes because she got really excited the other week when she noticed that Netflix was now streaming Bob Ross.

“Fitz, it’s perfect! Now I can paint along to Bob Ross!” Jemma beams when she opens his gift.

Fitz smiles as he ducks his head, pleased. “That was the idea, yeah.”

Jemma twists around to grab a misshapen parcel from under the tree and shoves it into his lap. “I actually have a second gift for you too. Happy Christmas, Fitz.”

Fitz tears apart the wrapping paper and pulls out two blobs of tangled yarn. His face lights up, delighted. “You knitted me…” He trails off as he holds one out in front of him. “You knitted me...I’m actually not sure what you knitted me.”

Jemma flushes. “They’re socks.”

Fitz pulls one onto his foot, where it immediately slides back off and flops onto the ground. “Are you sure?”

Jemma’s lips press tightly together and she closes her eyes, quickly taking a breath through her nose. “Never mind,” she says quickly, opening her eyes and snatching back the sock. “It was stupid.”

“No!” Fitz protests, reaching over and grabbing it back from her. “I love it!” He tugs it over his hair. “See? It’s a hat!” It does stretch out quite nicely over his head, covering his forehead and his ears. “And look -” He takes the other sock and pulls it over Jemma’s head. “Now we match. Which is convenient because everyone knows that friendship hats are the new friendship bracelets.”

“Friendship hats,” Jemma repeats, smiling as she tugs her hats more snugly over her ears. “That sounds about right.”

*

At the end of January, Jemma gives in to Milton’s requests to introduce him to her friend group.

“Hi! I’m Milton!” He greets each person as they arrive at their usual table at the bar. Jemma tries not to read into the look that Bobbi and Hunter exchange.

Fitz is the last one to the bar. When he arrives, he squeezes in next to Jemma and slings his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, roomie.”

Jemma scowls into her drink. “Stop it.”

“I’m using positive reinforcement.”

Jemma shrugs off his arm. “It’s not that big a deal.”

Aware that everyone is staring at them, Fitz announces, “Jemma cleaned her hair out from the shower drain today.”

“It’s not that big a deal!” Jemma repeats, louder this time. “I do it literally all the time!”

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “Do you?” Fitz asks with teasing skepticism. “Do you really?”

Jemma groans. “Fitz, I urge you to stop giving our friends the impression that I never clean.”

Fitz smirks. “Jemma, I urge you to consider that if you cleaned more often, I wouldn’t be as surprised when you do.”

“I urge you to consider that maybe the true reason you’re surprised is because you’re only in the shower once a week,” Jemma says, fighting a smile.

“I urge you to consider that insulting my hygiene doesn’t help the situation.”

“I urge you to consider that maybe if you didn’t insult my -”

“I urge you to consider that maybe I was trying to compliment -”

“I urge you to consider how patronizing it sounds when -”

Noticing their friends’ confused stares, Milton explains, “They watched an episode of Dr. Phil about how to disagree respectfully.”

Daisy frowns. “Is it me, or does it sound super passive-aggressive?”

“Or just regular aggressive,” Mack observes, as Jemma grabs Fitz’s arm so that his hand swings against his own face, laughing _I urge you to stop hitting yourself!_  Fitz reaches over with his other hand and pulls Jemma’s hat over her eyes in retaliation.

Bobbi stares at them in muted horror. “Oh my God. This whole living arrangement is actually working.”

Milton watches Fitz and Jemma, nodding and smiling obliviously. He clears his throat before exclaiming jovially, “Hey, I urge you - I urge Fitz to, uh, to consider getting himself a drink!” He laughs, amused with himself.

Jemma lets go of Fitz, dropping her hands in her lap. Fitz blinks, turning to look at Milton. “Oh, right. I haven’t ordered yet.” He stands and raps his knuckles against the table. “Any of you want another drink?”

“I do,” Jemma says, sliding out of her seat. “I’ll come with you.”

Milton jumps in again. “I urge you to get one of those drinks with the tiny umbrellas!”

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “Uh, sure, I guess, I can see if they have umbrellas.”

Milton’s smile falters. “Oh, no, uh I...not for me. I just meant, like, I urge you, you know? Like, what you were doing. Get it?”

Everyone stares at him for a long moment, before Jemma says, “Ohhh, you were joking. Okay, I get it.” She laughs weakly, glaring at her friends until they join in.

“So, to be clear, Milton doesn’t want an umbrella, right?” Fitz asks Jemma in a low voice as they walk to the bar.

Jemma’s quiet for a long moment. “Maybe we should get one just to be safe.”

*

Fitz has always been more of a night owl than a morning person. Some of his most ingenious breakthroughs come as he’s lying half-awake in bed at night, running problems over in his head as he’s drifting off to sleep. And once he thinks of something, well, he has to get up and write it all down before he forgets. And then one idea leads to another and before he knows it, it’s 5:00 in the morning and he can hear Jemma’s alarm blaring next door. He usually sandwiches his head between his pillows to muffle out the sound and falls right back asleep so that he can wake up at a more reasonable hour, like 10.

But somehow Jemma manages to get him addicted to the buttery, flaky croissants at her favorite bakery, and he finds himself leaving the flat with her at 8:17 every morning so he can tag along with her on her daily pit stop on the way to work.

He starts bringing his laptop with him so he can set up shop there, partly so Jemma will stop teasing him about being a recluse and partly because the barista behind the counter is cute and friendly. Which Jemma figures out, like, immediately.

Fitz knows he’s in trouble when Jemma grins, toothy and sharp, as soon as they walk away from the counter after putting in their order.

“Fitz and Julie sitting in a tree,” Jemma sings under her breath.

“Are we six?” Fitz asks incredulously.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Fitz claps his palm over Jemma’s open mouth, then immediately recoils when he feels her tongue, wet and warm, lick his hand.

“Gross!” Fitz wipes his hand on his jeans.

Jemma sticks her tongue out at him. “That’s what you get for trying to silence women.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you sure showed me. Down with the patriarchy.”

“I’m leaning in, Fitz,” Jemma insists, her eyes bright with amusement. She bumps her shoulder into his. “You should ask her out!”

Fitz wrinkles his eyebrows. “Sheryl Sandberg?”

Jemma slaps Fitz’s arm with the back of her hand. “Julie!”

“The woman’s just trying to do her job, Jemma. She doesn’t need another creep hitting on her at her place of employment.”

Jemma softens at that. “For what it’s worth, I think she likes you too.”

Fitz shrugs. “All the same, I’d rather leave it up to her to make a move.”

After three weeks of hesitant flirting and shy smiles, Julie sits down across from Fitz at his table and says, “Your roommate told me you’re never going to ask me out, so I should do it instead.”

Fitz blinks. It takes him a few moments to process her words, but once he does, he facepalms. “I’m so sorry, Julie. Jemma likes to meddle. Feel free to ignore her.”

The corners of Julie’s lips twitch at that. “Fitz. Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

Fitz’s eyes widen. “Oh! I...uh…”.

Julie’s smile slowly disappears as Fitz stammers, and a flush spreads across her face. “Or I can ignore her. That’s an option, too.”

Before he can over think it, Fitz gently covers her wrist with his hand and forces the words out. “Yes. I’d really like that.” He frowns. “The dinner, I mean. Not the ignoring. Well, you can ignore her too if you want, but not about the dinner thing. Dinner would be great.”

Julie beams. “Great! Give me your phone.” Her thumbs fly over the screen, and when she hands it back to Fitz, he sees that she’s put herself in his contacts as Julie with a croissant emoji next to her name, and she’s sent herself a text that says Fitz!  
“I’ll text you my schedule.”

After Julie returns behind the counter, Fitz texts Jemma. _Did you know that you’re really embarrassing_?

Her reply is instantaneous. _It totally worked though, right?_

_Yes, but don’t let it go to your head._

Jemma sends a string of celebratory emoji and a gif of the Peanuts kids dancing manically, their heads tilted back and mouths wide open. She follows those up with a collection of very NSFW gifs that Fitz ignores for fear of getting arrested for public indecency. _Who’s the best?_

Fitz rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see him, and texts back, _You are._ And he finds that he even means it.

*

“You’re wearing that?”

Fitz looks down at his plaid shirt, patterned tie, and trousers. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Jemma shrugs. “It’s a bit juvenile, don’t you think?”

Fitz scowls. “You’re wearing a unicorn snuggie,” he points out, tugging on the horn protruding from the hood pulled over her hair, causing it to fall over her eyes.

Jemma adjusted her hood and casually sips her wine. “I’m not going on a date.”

“Hey, at least Julie knows what she’s getting - it’s truth in advertising. Think Milton knows you lounge about getting drunk, wearing actual tails attached to your jammies?

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “I don’t particularly care what Milton thinks of me. Not that he would express an original thought if he ever had one.”

Fitz blinks. “Okay. Hang on to that thought. We are definitely talking about that when I get home.”

“When you get home? Already planning on striking out?” Jemma teases

Fitz sticks out his tongue at her. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

*

They’re about halfway through dinner when Julie says, “Wow, so you’re like totally in love with your roommate, huh?”

Fitz chokes on his water. “What?” It doesn’t quite come out very intelligible because he’s still choking. Julie watches him with mild curiosity as she patiently waits for him to stop coughing and spluttering. Every time he tries to say something, he starts coughing again, and he might actually literally be dying right now.

“Why do you say that?” Fitz croaks out after what seems like an awkward eternity.

Julie shrugs. “It just seems like you can’t stop talking about her.”

Fitz rubs the back of his neck. “That seems like an exaggeration.”

“I told you about how I went to visit my sister last month and you started talking about Jemma’s sandwiches.”

“Okay, but that’s because you went to visit her in Buffalo, New York, and Jemma makes her sandwiches with buffalo mozzarella,” Fitz explains.

Julie just raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

Fitz swallows nervously, then clears his throat. “So...what are you doing with the rest of your weekend?”

Julie looks offended. “You really think we’re going to-”

“No!” Fitz rushes to correct her. “I don’t mean it like that - of course I don’t. I just -” Fitz huffs impatiently. “I’m trying to make conversation.”

Julie takes a healthy sip of wine. “I’m taking my nephew to the zoo on Sunday.”

“That sounds like fun. I love the zoo. What’s your favorite animal?”

Fitz doesn’t quite hear her response because he’s too busy thinking about how his favorite animal is the capuchin monkey and how he’s been trying to convince Jemma that they should adopt one as a pet and how he keeps bringing it up even though he knows she’ll say no because even when she’s exasperated, she still sounds so fond, and she’ll furrow her brow like she’s trying to be stern when really it’s so obvious that she’s trying not to laugh and -

“Oh, fuck. I’m totally in love with my roommate.”

*

When Fitz gets back from his date, Jemma’s watching The Room, so Fitz flops down on the couch next to her. “I love this part.”

Jemma nudges his shoulder with hers. “So how’d the date go?”

Fitz shrugs. “It was fine. Probably won’t have a second one, though.”

Jemma leans her head against his shoulder. “Sorry, Fitz.”

Fitz adjusts his arm so that it’s draped along the back of the couch. “Not a big deal.”

They spend the rest of the movie heckling the screen and competing to see who could more accurately imitate Tommy Wiseau. When it’s over, Jemma turns off the screen and sits up to face Fitz.

“You know how you said we were going to talk about Milton later?”

“Yeah.” Fitz pauses. “You wanna do that now?”

Jemma bites her lip. “Would that be okay? I know you didn’t have the best night.”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay. It’s not like I’m heartbroken or anything. Just let me get changed.”

While she’s waiting, Jemma takes out the vodka Fitz got her for Christmas and two small tumblers. She pours each one about halfway through and sits cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

Fitz emerges from his room wearing a gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. He smiles when he sees her and sits down across from her, mimicking her posture.

Jemma exhales heavily before downing her drink in one go. “I think I have to break up with Milton.”

“Yeah?” Fitz asks carefully.

“Yeah.” Jemma pours more vodka into her cup.

“What changed?”

It’s a hard question to answer because nothing did, really, except for Jemma’s opinion of Milton. At first, it was easy to have a crush on him. He’s reasonably good looking and shares a lot of her opinions and has good taste in pop culture. They have a lot in common. Things are easy with him. It’s not a bad thing. At least, it shouldn’t be.

But after a few months of dating him, it’s almost like Milton’s a little too quick to agree with Jemma. It’s like he doesn’t care enough to really think about it. And Jemma wouldn’t mind if he disagreed with her - everyone’s entitled to their opinion. And maybe if she felt like she and Milton happen to have the same opinions, she’d feel better about it. But she’s starting to get the sense that a lot of times, she and Milton share an opinion because it’s her opinion. And while Jemma can handle disagreement, she can’t handle ambivalence. She wants to be with someone who cares.

Jemma still likes Milton. He’s a good guy. But she can’t really get herself to feel excited about Milton. And at first, she brushed that thought aside because she thought that she didn’t need to be excited about him - that her expectations were unreasonable. But the more she thinks about it, the more she’s convinced that she should be with someone she could love someday. And she doesn’t think Milton is that person.

And really, if she’d rather hang out with her friends or stay home with Fitz than go on a date with Milton, then it’s really not fair to Milton to be with him if she’d rather be somewhere else.

“Does that make sense?” Jemma asks. Usually, when she asks that, Milton gets offended, interpreting it as her questioning his intelligence. But Fitz gets that she’s asking whether she’s presented her jumbled, half-baked thoughts in a way that coherent enough for him to understand.

Fitz has been watching her intently the whole time, almost holding his breath. “Yeah,” he says gently. “It makes sense.”

Jemma lies down, tired, her head in Fitz’s lap. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Fitz gently combs his fingers through her hair. “I think you’re the only one who can answer that question, Jem.”

Jemma closes her eyes. “It’s the right thing,” she decides. “I know it is. I just don’t want it to be. Breaking up sucks, even when you’re the one doing the breaking up.” She lets out a deep sigh, her entire chest heaving with it. “I guess we’re both unlucky in love, aren’t we?”

Fitz is quiet for a long moment. When he finally talks, his voice is a little strained. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

*

Milton, as usual, is quick to agree with Jemma.

“It’s probably for the best,” he admits. And Jemma has no right to feel annoyed, but she does.

“I don’t even care,” she slurs later at the bar, her head leaning against Fitz’s shoulder as the others play darts. “It’s not like I wanted him to be heartbroken. I know I’m not.”

“You just like it when people care,” Fitz supplies.

Jemma jolts up, immediately regretting it when the movement makes her head spin. “Exactly! You get it. Why can’t anyone else get it?” She flops back against Fitz, her body practically molded against his side. “You’re the only one who understands me.”

Fitz just continues to pet her hair for a while. Finally, he says cautiously, “It’s okay to be upset about it, you know.”

“I’m not upset,” Jemma sighs. “Just disappointed. It would’ve been nice if it could’ve worked out.”

“Well, something else will work out soon,” Fitz says with more confidence than she thinks she deserves.

Jemma grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers in his lap. “We’ll just take turns being optimistic.”

*

In April, having come into some extra cash, Fitz looks up flights to Scotland, finds a really good deal for the following week, and impulsively buys the ticket.

“It’s only for ten days,” Fitz reassures Jemma as she helps him pack.

“I know,” she says haughtily. “You’re acting like I can’t live on my own for a week and a half when we both know that i’m the one who makes sure you’re fed.”

“Just don’t forget to turn off the stove when you’re done cooking.”

“That was one time!”

For all she knows that she's perfectly capable of living on her own, Jemma doesn’t like it. She’s always appreciated her alone time, but she hadn’t realized how much of her alone time involved Fitz. Even if they weren't interacting, it was always a comfort to have him there, hearing him opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen as he scrounges up a snack, feeling his warmth next to her on the couch, knowing that if she shares a thought, he’d be there to hear it and acknowledge it instead of having her words dissipate into the air as soon as they’re spoken.

Jemma finds herself trying to fill up her schedule and her apartment with friends. She joins Bobbi and Hunter for board games at their flat. She invites Daisy over to drink wine and complain about work practically every night of the week. She goes on a tepid and unpromising date. She pulls up episodes of Bob Ross over the weekend so she can paint along, but no matter what she does, she can’t seem to make her little clouds seem happy. Even when her friends are there, her apartment seems empty without Fitz. She feels uneasy, like she’s a guest in her own home.

And that’s probably when Jemma realizes that gradually, impossibly, Fitz has become a vital part of her home - a vital part of her life. And it’s not that she can’t imagine her life without him. It’s that she doesn’t like her life without him. When Fitz is gone, Jemma can’t get the pieces of her life to fit together quite right.

Jemma’s not quite sure what to make of that realization. She doesn’t know what Fitz is to her. It seems so insufficient to just call him her roommate or her friend. “Best friend” might be closer, but it still doesn’t quite encapsulate the warmth that she feels for him, the fondness that unfurls in her chest whenever she thinks of him. It doesn’t quite explain how even when she’s spent an entire day with him, she still wants to follow him to his room at bedtime, not necessarily for physical intimacy (though if she’s being honest with herself, she might have very inappropriate dreams about his hands), but just because she still wants to be near him, even if they’re not talking or touching.

It doesn’t explain the ache she feels when she thinks that there might ever be a time when they’re not roommates, when they’re not best friends, when they’re not as close as they are right now.

And when Jemma gets drunk and shares all of this with Daisy and Bobbi the night before Fitz returns, they exchange looks of mild exasperation and pity, seemingly communicating with their eyebrows. Finally, Bobbi sighs and turns to Jemma.

“Babe,” she says, in a tone of voice as patient as she can manage. “That’s called ‘love.’”

*

Fitz wishes he could visit his mum more, but since he moved away for uni, he’s only been able to manage visits once every year and a half. He’s always been close to his mum, but they manage the distance with weekly Skype calls and occasional e-mails. And when Fitz visits, she spoils him rotten and makes all his favorite childhood treats and generally makes a solid case for Fitz returning to his hometown.

And Fitz completely recognizes that it’s ridiculous for him to feel so homesick for his shared flat with Jemma. He’s been away from his mum for 535 days. He should be able to handle ten days away from his roommate. Especially considering that they text all day every day and Skype every other day and are pretty much just constantly communicating.

The day he leaves, he Skypes Jemma from the airport as he waits for his plane to arrive. When Jemma answers the phone, Fitz realizes that he must have woken her because her head is still resting on her pillow, her eyes heavy-lidded and hair mussed.

“Hey,” Jemma says, her voice raspy from disuse, her smile small and fond. Fitz can’t help but wonder if this is what it would be like to wake up next to her in the morning.

“Hey. I’m about to board. So, you know, wanted to get one call in before I-”

“Ugh, Fitz.” Jemma rolls her eyes. “You know air travel is the safest form of travel there is.”

Fitz smiles at her. “Well, in that case, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Want me to come and get you from the airport?” Jemma asks. “I can check to see if I can leave work early.”

“No, don’t do that,” Fitz protests. “I’ll get an Uber. It’s not a problem.”

“Well, I’ll bring home dinner, then. Any requests?”

“Ooh, get me that chicken teriyaki from that Chinese place on 30th.”

“You know that teriyaki is Japanese, not Chinese, right? They’re completely appropriating another culture’s food.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Like orange chicken is authentic Chinese food?”

“It’s authentically Chinese-American without being appropriated from another culture,” Jemma says stubbornly.

“Well, maybe I prefer fake chicken teriyaki.”

Jemma grumbles something under her breath that Fitz ignores. “Hey Jemma.”

“Yeah?” Jemma scowls, though the sleepiness of her expression turns it into more of a confused pout.

“It’s good to see your face.”

Jemma’s expression softens. “It’s good to see your face, too.” She hesitates, unsure. “I missed you,” she admits, her voice shy.

“I missed you too. See you in approximately six hours.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Despite Jemma’s assurances that she’ll see Fitz at home, Fitz still finds her waiting for him when he arrives at baggage claim. She’s still scowling down at her phone when he walks up to her and says, “You didn’t have to come.”

Jemma’s head jerks up at the sound of his voice, and her whole face brightens, relaxing into an easy and open smile. “Fitz!” She flings herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. It’s a lot to take in.

“You shouldn’t leave again.”

“You can be the one to explain that to my mum.”

“She can visit you here.” Jemma pulls away from Fitz and rocks back onto her heels. “I got your suitcase.”

Fitz furrows his eyebrows. “Where?”

Jemma grabs the handle of the black suitcase next to her. “Right here.” She grabs Fitz’s hand and practically pulls him along as she walks purposefully out of the airport.

“Jemma?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s not my suitcase.”

Jemma stops in her tracks. “Oh. Shit.”

*

It’s not that Jemma doesn’t agree with Bobbi’s and Daisy’s assessment of the situation. In hindsight, it’s obvious that she loves Fitz - that she’s in love with Fitz. And it’s not that she forgets.

It’s more that she’s aggressively Not Thinking About It. Because what is she supposed to say? _Hey, by the way, I’m in love with you?_ That seems far more frightening than moving to a new country on her own, than being a nubile young woman trying to establish a career in a male-dominated field, than that time her ex-boyfriend convinced her they should try sky-diving.

So instead, she carries on what she’s been doing - picking pointless and petty fights with him that eventually peter out when they get hungry and decide to call for takeout, sitting on the couch next to him as they watch movies, needling him when they get over-competitive playing drinking games at Hunter’s and Bobbi’s.

And if she stands closer to him than she used to when they argue, close enough to that she can see his dilated eyes and flushed skin, and if she pretends to fall asleep on his lap during movie night so that he’ll keep on absently running his fingers through her hair, and if she slightly exaggerates how drunk she is so that she has an excuse to lean on him and watch for his reaction when she “accidentally” makes suggestive comments, well. No one needs to know.

 *

“Our lease is up.” Fitz is sitting on the couch, papers and envelopes and catalogs spread out over their coffee table.

“Oh?” Jemma sounds casual, but Fitz can see the way her shoulders tense as she puts down her purse and sweater on the chair that Fitz put in the corner next to the door for the express purpose of collecting all of the things that Jemma used to casually toss on the floor whenever she arrived at home.

“Yeah.” Fitz studies her carefully. “Should we renew it?”

Jemma sits next to him on the couch. “Well, we do still need somewhere to live.”

“So you’re planning on staying here?” Fitz presses.

“Well, yeah.” Jemma frowns. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” Fitz rubs the back of his neck. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten sick of me yet.”

It feels like too much to tell him that she could never get sick of him, that he’s the best roommate she’s ever had, that she’d be roommates with him forever if she could. So instead, she goes back to the argument she made when they first decided to move in together. “Even if I were sick of you, you’d still be better than a potential axe murderer.”

Fitz dramatically covers his heart with his hand. “Simmons, it wounds me that you don’t think I have potential as an axe murderer. Are you not impressed with my extensive axe collection?”

Jemma smiles wryly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “I’m afraid not, especially considering you don’t know how to use them correctly. I can’t be the first to tell you that you have shoddy axing technique. Not threatening at all.”

Fitz frowns, inexplicably offended. “Well, I’d like to think I’m at least moderately threatening.”

“Not threatening at all,” Jemma teases. “I could totally take you.”

That seems to awaken Fitz’s competitive side, because before Jemma can fully process what’s happening, he’s tackled her onto her back, her hair flying over the throw pillows. “I urge you to reconsider your flagrant disregard for my manhood.”

The thing is, having Fitz essentially lying on top of her, his hair messy and his eyes bright, is...well, it’s a lot. Add to that the fact that he just used the word “manhood”, and Jemma doesn’t think she can be blamed for her lack of filter when she says, “How can I when you’ve never even let me regard your manhood?”

Jemma regrets her words pretty much immediately the moment they leave her mouth, even before Fitz jerks backwards with wide eyes. She’s always gotten upset learning about sexual predators in the news, and now here she is, just one massage request and potted plant away from Harvey-Weinsteining her best friend.

She’s grasping at the words to apologize when Fitz blinks and asks, “Would you want to?” He doesn’t sounds angry, just surprised, like it never occurred to him that Jemma might be physically attracted to him.

And the thing is, he doesn’t exactly sound opposed to the idea. He might even sound curious, like he’s also been wondering about what it would be like to make the shift into something more. Like he genuinely wants to know her opinion on the matter.

And maybe Jemma should be honest about her opinion, because clearly, ignoring her stupid crush isn’t helping the situation.

Apparently, the Jemma’s long silence is enough of an answer for Fitz, because he asks, “Why?” He sounds so sincerely flummoxed, like he doesn’t understand why Jemma would want him in that way, and it guts Jemma to think that Fitz might not know how wonderful he is.

Jemma bites her bottom lip, nervous despite her earlier conviction to be honest. “Because you care. About everything.”

Fitz’s eyes flash in recognition, and she knows that he remembers her words from previous conversations. There’s no way he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But his smile is still hesitant, unsure. “And you?” Fitz asks. “Do you care?”

Jemma figures she might as well make it as unambiguous as possible. She slides her fingers into his hair and says, “About you? Always.” And she leans up and presses her lips against his, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Fitz kisses her back, slow and soft. But then Jemma tightens her hold on him and the kiss gets deeper, dirtier, his hands roaming frantically over her body. He pulls back from her mouth and presses kisses into her jawline, her neck, pulls the collar of her shirt aside to scrape his teeth against her shoulder. “I urge you to consider loving me,” Fitz says, smiling into her skin.

Jemma laughs, breathless. “I already do.”

“Good. Me too.”

*

When Fitz opens his eyes the next morning, he’s reminded of the day he Skyped Jemma from the airport in Scotland, of Jemma’s soft smile and half-open eyes when she answered the phone, still lying in bed.

Except now Jemma’s lying in _his_ bed, her hair spread out over _his_ pillow, wearing _his_ t-shirt and nothing else. He’s not sure how he got to be this lucky - how he went from having a roommate to a best friend to a live-in girlfriend. At least, he’s pretty sure she’s his girlfriend. He knows they love each other, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure they’re on the same page.

Jemma must be thinking the same thing, because she rolls onto her stomach so that she’s half on top of him and kisses his shoulder. “I urge you to consider being my boyfriend.” She rests her head on his chest so that her ear is pressed against his heart.

Fitz kisses Jemma’s hair and tightens his arm around her. “You won’t hear any arguments from me.”

 

 


End file.
